


Oh, Please Don't Let Me Down

by wesawbears



Series: Andante, Andante [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 10:13:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16808611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesawbears/pseuds/wesawbears
Summary: Sansa is crowned Queen in the North and because nothing can be simple, has to choose a husband. She chooses Theon.





	Oh, Please Don't Let Me Down

It’s raining the day Sansa is coronated. The rain makes for the kind of cold that seeps into her bones, but she was born from the cold, in more ways than one, so she does not flinch.

The crown tangles in her hair and she vaguely remembers hearing how the Iron Throne was built to be uncomfortable, in order to keep its rulers comfortable. This is not the Iron Throne, thank the Gods, but she imagines the sentiment remains the same. Idly, she wonders if Robb felt the same when they crowned him King in the North. 

When the shouts of “Queen in the North” start and they kneel before her, she wills herself not to feel like it’s a death knell.

\--

The daily running of the castle is tedious, but she finds she’s good at it. Her time in King’s Landing and with Littlefinger did afford her some practical skills and while she’s never been skilled at sums, she knows people. 

The main concern after the war is rebuilding their stores of food and supplying it to the common folk, as well as redistributing lands where whole families were destroyed. Thankfully, there are many who fought valiantly in the Battle for King’s Landing and the Great War, so repopulating is going as smoothly as it can. There is the natural amount of grumbling from some of the old Northern families about Southerners invading, but with the state of the realm being what it is, they know they can’t afford to be picky. All things considered, things seemed to be going almost too well. 

Sansa shouldn’t have been surprised, then, when a raven comes from Jon announcing his intention to visit and “check in on the reconstruction effort.”

When he arrives from King’s Landing a few weeks later, he at least has the respect for her to not beat around the bush. “You need to be married,” he tells her, not unkindly, but she freezes nonetheless.

“Why?” she asks, forcing steel into her voice.

He looks around and says, “You know how the North is. The world is changing, but not that much.”

“You’re saying they won’t respect me without a husband.”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

She purses her lips, biting back the worry and frustration she feels. She is Queen and cannot afford to show weakness. “Do I at least have a say in who is to be my husband?”

“Of course,” Jon says, looking as though he’d like to get this over with as quickly as possible. “I gather there are few men who would refuse a queen.”

She thinks through her possible options, of who is left after the war. She supposes Lord Tyrion was kind, but as Queen Daenerys’ hand, the marriage would be too difficult logistically. There are a number of Northern lords who would make viable options, though, knowing Northern ways, all she can think of is Ramsay and a lump forms in her throat. Then, an idea comes to her unbidden.

“Theon,” she answers.

Jon looks at her strangely. “Sansa, don’t joke.”

“I’m not joking. You asked me to choose and I made a choice.”

“Sansa...if he marries you, he’ll be lord consort of Winterfell. The very idea of it would send people into open revolt.”

“I trust him. And you’ve seen him. He isn’t looking for any crowns. He abdicated to Yara.”

Jon scrubs a hand over his face. “His sister could still be whispering in his ear, though.”

“If we’re going to move forward, we have to trust each other. The mistrust between us and Pyke only increases the chance of an attack.”

As a last effort, Jon says, “And what of heirs?”

There was a time when it would have made Sansa pause, a time when all she wanted in the world was children. Now, she thinks she would just be happy to have someone she knew would not hurt her. She straightens her spine and says, “We’ll deal with that when we must.”

He seems to come to the realization that Sansa will not be moved on the subject, because he sighs and says, “Fine. Send a raven to Pyke. If he agrees, we’ll move forward from there.”

\--

The raven arrives a week later and Yara reads it, perplexed. She seems to stare at it for hours before she hears, “What is it?” from behind her.

She turns and holds the letter out to Theon. “Read it yourself. It’s for you, I suppose.”

She watches his face change, close to the face he made in the brothel all those months ago, as though he was swallowing ale without wanting to.

“She can’t be serious.”

Yara shrugs. “She doesn’t strike me as the type to joke.”

He shakes his head and looks down at the letter once more, as though he expects it to burst into flames at any moment. “I- do you think I should go?”

Yara stands. “Of course I want you here.” He nods, but she continues. “But I also know you’re not happy here. Not really.” When he doesn’t answer, she tries again. “The way I see it, you’re getting handed a pretty girl and the lap of luxury, like you’ve always wanted. Are you really going to turn that down?”

“I don’t know,” he says and she makes a frustrated grunt. “Well, if you say no, you have to be the one to write and tell her so.”

He looks at the letter one last time and traces over it. “I’m not saying no,” he answers at last.

“Good,” she says, turning on her heel and leaving him to his thoughts.

\--

Things move quickly after that and he arrives at Winterfell three weeks after she receives the raven with his answer. She doesn’t go to greet him, but watches from behind one of the walls. He looks better than he did the last time she saw him, less thin, but no less serious. She wonders how long it’s been since he really smiled.

She can’t quite bring herself to speak to him before the wedding, instead throwing herself into the work that needs to be done for the preparations. The night of their wedding arrives and it almost catches her by surprise. Jon arrives at her room to escort her to the Godswood and finds her staring firmly at the folds of her dress.

“Are you ready?” he asks and she blinks up at him, thrown out of her reverie. She takes his arm and tells herself this is nothing like the last time.

Her hair falls loosely onto her shoulders and it doesn’t snow. 

She sees him by the heart tree in his house colors and though he doesn’t look quite like the Theon she remembers from her childhood, he looks better than he had that night and it eases her fears. In the lantern light, she finds, he actually looks quite handsome, and her face warms.

Jon gives her away and she takes his arm and they both ignore the way the other is shaking.

\--

The feast is a bit of a disaster. The Northerners are known for being rowdy, as are the Greyjoys. Arya and her band don’t help the situation any either. 

Her and Theon don’t say much to each other from their seats at the head table, but it isn’t necessarily uncomfortable. Theon seems to startle a bit when he sees Ghost by Jon’s side, so Sansa breaks the silence.

“He won’t hurt you. He listens to Jon.”

Theon nods, but still looks a bit spooked, so she continues with, “You look well, my Lord.”

He looks over at her. “As-as do you, my Lady.” He takes a long drink of his wine and she doesn’t push it for the moment.

She waits until the drinking and dancing is truly out of hand to excuse herself, saying she wants to go to the Godswood to pay respects before her wedding night. Theon was distracted speaking to Yara anyway.

She walks out, letting herself feel the chill surround her. She’s barely been in front of the heart tree for two minutes when she registers Jon sitting on the bench next to her. They sit in silence for a bit before she says, “It feels like they’re here with us. When I’m out here.”

Jon nods in understanding. “It’s one thing I miss about Winterfell.”

She picks at the hem of her dress. “I always imagined my wedding so differently.”

“I’m sorry.” When she doesn’t answer, he continues, “They would want you to be happy.”

“I’m trying.”

“Are you sure this was the right decision? For you, not for Winterfell.”

“It was,” she says, dusting her dress off as more of a habit than it truly needing it. “For all his faults, he knew what would happen if Ramsay caught us when we escaped. He put himself in danger for me. And then when I heard how he rescued his sister and fought in King’s Landing…” she sighs. “When you’re a woman in this world, there are worse things than marrying a man who’s kind and brave and devoted to you.”

“I hope you’re right.”

With that, they head back inside. Theon looks grateful for her return, as he was in the middle of being goaded into a drinking contest with some other Ironborn. She decides to save him by saying, “I’ve grown tired. I would like my husband to escort me to bed.”

She looks at him imploringly and he stands, taking her arm. They head into the hallway and both of them breathe a sigh of relief. “I don’t like the crowds either,” she says.

He cracks a small smile in thanks and notes, “You used to love all the feasts.”

Her mouth presses into a line. “My time in King’s Landing rid me of that, I’m afraid. I just want to live in peace.”

“That’s what I want as well.”

She gives him a soft smile. “We’re not so different then, I suppose.”

He nods. “I suppose not.”

They walk the length of the hallway to her room and he waits outside the door and she lingers, trying to decide whether to invite him in or not. Before she can decide, he says, “Sleep well, my lady.”

“And you, my Lord.”

She sleeps absurdly soundly that night.

\--

In the weeks that follow, very little changes around Winterfell. Sansa remains preoccupied with the running of the castle and Theon mostly keeps to himself, which she both minds and doesn’t mind. The solitude is nice, but if she did have to be married, she had anticipated some level of companionship. He usually takes his food in his room, leaving her at the table alone, but she has her work to keep her occupied. 

She generally retires to her room late into the night, though she always lingers a moment at his door, trying to gather enough courage to knock. This night, like all those other nights before, she sighs and passes by, to her room, where she’ll lie awake and try to keep the nightmares at bay. As the Queen and Lady of Winterfell, she’s expected to sleep in the master bedroom, but knowing that she’s sleeping in what was her parent’s room makes her feel like a child playing at something much bigger than her.

After a few hours of restless sleep, she decides to take a walk around the castle, hoping it will clear her head. She makes her way to the walk outside, shivering in only her nightgown and a shawl. She doesn’t turn back for something heavier though because the cold is part of her.

She comes to a stop when she sees a figure standing at the end of the walk. “Theon?” she calls out, wrapping her shawl tighter around herself.

He startles, but catches himself. “My lady? What are you doing out here?”

She walks over to him. “I couldn’t sleep.”

He nods. “I can leave you to your thoughts, then.”

“No,” she says, and he looks at her as she pleads, “Stay. Please.”

He settles himself back against the ledge, facing her. “As you wish, my lady.”

She doesn’t know why, but hearing him defer to her so easily makes the same anger she felt watching him deny his name flare up inside her.

“You know, you’re not a servant. You don’t have to hide.”

He looks up at her, surprised. “Just trying to stay out of the way.”

She looks over the edge, down at where she remembered Theon, Robb and Jon train, where Arya and Bran and Rickon chased each other around. “I want to make it feel like home again. Instead of just something he tainted.”

Hesitantly, he hovers his hand over hers, only placing it on top of hers when she nods. “Your aren’t tainted, Sansa.” He swallows. “You are- good. You’re kind to people, even when people are unkind to you.”

“You were kind to me.”

He looks away. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“You’re right. I don’t. All I meant was- If I’m not tainted, you aren’t either. I’d rather get to know who you are now than judge who you were.”

He’s silent for a long moment, but his grip tightens on her hand. She flips it over so that their palms touch and it’s the warmest she’s felt in a long time.


End file.
